Strut
by gryffindormischief
Summary: Harry sees it as a duty honestly. He is obligated to serve the public after all, and Ginny qualifies as public, right?


A/N: Prompt from tumblr for Harry being all show offy boy for Ginny. Hehe. I hope this is cute :) Thanks for all the encouragement on the Jily lived + Hinny fic...I'm definitely wanting to do more in that AU so if you have prompts or ideas, you can send them to me on here or tumblr! This fic, however, takes place in the canonverse

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The trainee auror program at the Ministry starts with about a month of mind-numbing lectures and reading assignments on the basics of magical law enforcement, which means the only things Harry got to show off to Ginny before she left on September 1st were paper cuts and eye strain. Which, that's not _why_ he chose to become an auror, but the fringe benefit of impressing Ginny was a pleasant idea that was sadly unfulfilled.

So by the time Ginny's back for Christmas break and Harry's finally completed his physical training circuit, it's been long enough that he doesn't really think about the changes to his body much anymore, despite the definitive increase in muscle tone and overall broadness. Until Teddy spits up on Harry's t-shirt and Molly sticks out her hand expectantly for the dirtied clothing. After passing Teddy off to Ginny, Harry whips the shirt off – somehow miraculously keeping any baby fluids off his person – and hands it to Molly, all of this in such quick succession he _almost_ misses Ginny's gob smacked expression.

When Ginny's eyes drag away from his newly muscled chest and connect with his, a blush rises on her freckled cheeks and Harry can't help but preen a bit at the thought that Ginny finds his body attractive.

In fact, he so much can't help it that he finds himself looking for ways to subtly flex when Ginny's around. Preferably shirtless. Which is actually not particularly difficult since Teddy's lately become a fan of _throwing_ rather than eating his various vegetable mashes and flexing is literally a matter of thinking about it. And eventually Ginny seems less embarrassed and more in favor of taking full advantage of the free show, while Molly just rolls her eyes and tosses Harry's shirts in the wash.

The only real difficulty then, is toward the end of Christmas hols when Harry invites Ginny to his flat and Teddy is out of the picture. Because up until this point, Ginny has ogled and Harry has strutted, but no one has gotten any immediate gratification from the ogling and strutting – although they _did_ have a rather spectacular snog once Molly and Arthur went to bed after Sunday dinner at the beginning of the week – so Harry's determined to find a reason to be shirtless when Ginny arrives. And hopefully stay that way.

In the end, he decides to just be so harried – no pun intended – that he hasn't gotten a chance to put one on in the first place, which is actually very near the truth, considering Harry's barely got his jeans zipped before the floo flares and Ginny calls through the flat, "Honey, I'm home!"

Harry trots from the back of his flat, tossing his damp towel into the sink as he passes the loo, and nearly sends Ginny sprawling as she rounds the corner. Her breaths are short and somewhat labored as they brush across his exposed chest. "Warn a girl, eh?"

Grip around her waist not loosening, Harry grins and nuzzles against her hairline. " _Warning_."

Ginny clears her throat, once, twice, and tilts her head back and her nose drags along his jawline, freshly shaven. "That – that doesn't count."

Bringing one hand to knit through Ginny's tousled locks, Harry brushes his thumb along her cheekbone and gently tips her head so they're only a breath apart. Blinking slowly, he murmurs, "How much advance notice do you need?"

Hands sliding down from where they rest at Harry's shoulders, Ginny lets her fingers map the expanse of his chest, eyes dropping down to follow their path, sending shivers up Harry's spine. After her arms drop to her sides, Ginny takes a deep breath, letting it out in a long, slow sigh and Harry thinks maybe he's gone too far –

"Oh bloody buggering – ,"And then she's surging forward, tipping onto her toes as her arms wrap around his neck and her lips are pressed to his. Harry stumbles back into the wall, sending pictures shaking, and smiles against her mouth. Ginny pulls away, "I know what you're – ," she breaks off and moves in for another kiss, long and deep, "doing by the way."

"Doesn't – ," Harry begins peppering kisses down her neck as he maneuvers them toward the couch, "doesn't mean it's not," he lingers at her collar bone, " _working_."

After they drop onto the sofa, which is luckily free of any pointy detritus, Ginny tugs Harry's hair a touch too hard to be enjoyable and grumbles, "Don't be smug, _sir_."

Harry's nibbling at her ear when he chuckles, "Like _you_ wouldn't be smug," Ginny sighs and he almost loses his train of thought as she arches her body beneath him, he clears his throat and lets his hands run down her side, "You were pretty – ah – superior in that swimsuit."

Gunny tugs him down for another long press of lips, finally letting him come up for air after a handful of moments. "I was ' _superior_ ' because you walked into a tree, dear."

" _Tripped_ ," Harry amends, his fingers teasing at the hem of her shirt, "It's very dangerous in those woods."

"Poor baby," Ginny sighs, subtly twisting so she ends up on top, while miraculously keeping them from rolling off the cushions.

Blinking up from beneath Ginny, the firelight catching the golden streaks that run through her fiery red hair, Harry twitches his nose to send his glasses up to their rightful place. "It was a very traumatic experience. I think I need to be comforted."

Ginny pulls back, resting on her elbows as she looms overhead. " _Traumatic_ ," she lets the word roll around on her tongue, finger tapping at her chin, "Is that so?"

Harry hums, a rumble low in his chest and Ginny quirks a brow as she runs a finger around his lips, slow and torturous. As his eyes start to go a little hazy Ginny leans back, drawing a distressed moan from Harry which quickly becomes an entirely different type of moan when she tosses her jumper toward the worn armchair tucked in the corner. "How's that for comforting?"


End file.
